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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24697705">Drinking Game</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threatie/pseuds/Threatie'>Threatie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Grand Theft Auto V, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Bloodplay, Drugging, F/M, Fear of Death, Gaslighting, Kidnapping, M/M, Threats of Violence, Torture, also alcohol and hot tubs are a dangerous combination, as both a coping mechanism and means of control, creepy massage, left alone in bondage, thoughts of suicide under torture</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:20:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,898</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24697705</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threatie/pseuds/Threatie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A direct continuation of Wren's fic. Make sure you've read that one first.</p>
<p>https://wrenseroticlibrary.tumblr.com/post/620565446059507712/have-you-ever</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Trevor Collins/Ryan Haywood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrespawn/gifts">Wrespawn</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/632590">Have You Ever</a> by Wren.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"A few more questions" left room for a world of horror. It had only taken three for Trevor to come to the creeping realization that his worry should not be whether or not he'd get off this boat alive, but whether or not he'd <em>want</em> to.</p>
<p>He was completely unprepared when the next question was, "Do you drink?"</p>
<p>Trevor squinted up at the dark silhouette of the Vagabond above him, outlined in blinding sunlight. The treads of his boot ground ever so slightly into Trevor's chest. "Uh, y-yes. Yes, sir. A-all the time." </p>
<p>If the Vagabond was letting Trevor pick the nature of his undoing, was it possible he was also offering to soften it?</p>
<p>"<em>Good</em>." The voice from above him was a silk-wrapped purr. "Nice, quick answer. You're getting better at this." The praise sent a flutter of hope through Trevor's chest, the brief respite allowing the Vagabond's next words to catch him completely off-guard. "Now...<em>what</em> do you drink?"</p>
<p>All knowledge of beverages immediately fled Trevor's mind. "A-Anything. Anything. N-Not picky."</p>
<p>"Hmm." The Vagabond shifted above him, withdrawing the boot from his chest, and Trevor gasped in relief. He glanced down at himself, caught a quick glimpse of the reddened pattern stamped across his skin, glanced up again. Like a miracle, the Vagabond was retreating. </p>
<p>Trevor twisted on the smooth wooden boards, desperate to keep him in view. Some deep instinct whispering it was better to see the threat. Better to see it coming. As he watched, the Vagabond stepped behind a bar and busied himself with bottle and glass.</p>
<p>Seeing him approach again had Trevor shifting back involuntarily. The Vagabond knelt over him, glass in hand.</p>
<p>"Whiskey?"</p>
<p>Trevor nodded, too afraid to speak, lest he lose whatever amnesty was being offered. The Vagabond cupped the back of his head, bringing the glass to his lips. </p>
<p>He gulped it quickly. Too quickly. The expensive liquid seared behind his nose and down his throat, burning where it settled in his stomach. He coughed, and the Vagabond thumped him on the back. </p>
<p>"T-Thank you." He could already feel the heat spreading through him, softening his limbs and whispering at his mind. Fuck, it must've been a while since he'd eaten. </p>
<p>How long had the Fakes had him?</p>
<p>"Don't mention it." The Vagabond set the glass aside. "Last question. Do you like hot tubs?"</p>
<p>"Ah-" The question tripped something in Trevor's brain. Some cold realization sweeping through him like spilled water, chilling him, his body a patchwork of hot and cold. Alcohol. Heat. Blood thinners. Hot water and sharp knife and the Vagabond and <em>he likes blood. Wants to </em>swim<em> in it.</em></p>
<p>But Trevor hadn't offered him blood. He'd weighed his choices, and offered up himself instead. </p>
<p>"I...yes. I-I like hot tubs."</p>
<p>Down the other path, Trevor was suddenly sure what he was seeing was his own death, the pieces unwillingly connecting before the whiskey could banish them. But he hadn't told the Vagabond to torture him, so instead he was...romancing him? The same actions leading towards a very different conclusion. </p>
<p>He stifled a yelp as the Vagabond's arms suddenly encircled him, lifting him. Cradling him against a broad chest, nothing but the black fabric of the Vagabond's t-shirt separating skin from skin. Trevor could feel the man's heartbeat against his arm, could track every breath he took, like a preview of the crushing closeness he'd feel when-</p>
<p>The heated water closing over his legs couldn't stop the shivers that were beginning to wrack Trevor's body.</p>
<p>"I think we should wait for Wheels and the Kingpin, yeah?" The Vagabond leaned on the edge of the hot tub, his breath tickling against Trevor's neck. "Let them have their fun."</p>
<p>Trevor nodded mutely, unable to think beyond agreement. He had to believe- had to <em>hope</em>- that he'd get to leave this hot tub alive. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Additional content warnings for this chapter: explicit rape and impairment resulting from alcohol. Alcohol consumption implied to be involuntary. Disassociation, general creepiness, waterboarding-adjacent moment.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Seagulls wheeled by overhead. Trevor leaned his head back, squinting as he attempted to track their paths through the sky. Harsh sunlight reduced the scene to smudges of off-white set against blinding blue.</p>
<p>That, and the alcohol.</p>
<p>Manicured hands cradled Trevor's head, tipping it forward until he was face to face with Wheels. The relief that flowed through him once he was no longer staring at the sun flowed and melted into scattered observations, words like "beautiful" and "dangerous" resurfacing as she smiled. </p>
<p>"Where did you go, honey?" Movement jostled Trevor's thoughts like the contents of a cardboard box. One hand shifted to cup his cheek, the other reaching past his field of vision, returning with a shapely glass filled with something orange and chilled, topped with technicolor flowers. Wheels brought the glass to his lips. Tilted it. He drank. Sweet notes of mango flowed across his tongue, something sharp and alcoholic not quite hidden underneath. </p>
<p>She continued to tilt the glass, encouraging him to gulp the sweet liquid, then outpacing him, little trickles of orange cascading past his lips and down his chest. The cold liquid seemed to sparkle against his heated body, a promise of relief that would go unfulfilled. Trevor made a small noise as the angle of the glass became alarming, a pleading "Mm-!" before the last of the drink splashed across his face, into his nose.</p>
<p>Wheels' pleased laughter tinkled like wind chimes as he gasped for breath. She released him, and he slumped forward automatically, his body trusting gravity to force the liquid from his airways. Below him, he could see orange dripping into the water in slowly-drifting plumes. </p>
<p>Kingpin's voice sounded from somewhere to his right. "Oh, he is <em>fucked</em>."</p>
<p>Another laugh, deep and dark as well-worn leather. "Not yet, he's not."</p>
<p>The Vagabond hadn't entered the hot tub. Hadn't stilled his predatory pacing even as his crew mates had returned, both of them climbing eagerly into the heated water to share their new toy. Had continued to watch- conspicuously <em>watch</em>- as the two of them caressed Trevor, smoothing his hair and feeding him drinks, commenting on the few scars they could find on his pale skin in tones that clearly acknowledged their silent audience. </p>
<p>Trevor's head thumped back again, searching for the source of the voice behind him. Slowly, deliberately, the Vagabond stepped into view.</p>
<p>"How're you feeling, cop?"</p>
<p>The words were cold, dispassionate, and yet...Trevor's hazy mind couldn't identify a threat. The question was either genuine, or...<em>and</em>...he was <em>very</em> drunk. "I feel, uh...f-feel fucked, sir."</p>
<p>The Kingpin's appreciative laugh curled Trevor's mouth into an automatic smile, some drunken pleasure in managing a funny quip overriding the <em>wrongness</em> of the situation for exactly as long as it took the Vagabond's hands to slide beneath his arms and haul him from the water, oppressive heat giving way to cool air in an overwhelming wave of stimulation. </p>
<p>The raised deck surrounding the hot tub was comfortably broad, offering plenty of space for relaxing with feet dangling in the water, letting the stifling heat cool back into something pleasant and exciting. Trevor slumped gratefully where he was placed, feeling water pool around his body on the sun-warmed boards. Reality jolted sickeningly back into sharp relief as fingers curled into his sopping waist band, the Vagabond working his clinging boxers down his legs.</p>
<p>"Nnh-" </p>
<p>Trevor's body felt heavy, some combination of alcohol and heat exhaustion keeping him limp and boneless as the Vagabond positioned him, unable to offer even a token resistance. Time felt incorrect, each second continuing to tick by in perfect uniformity when clearly they should be slowing down, prolonging an eternity between the present moment and- and things Trevor's mind couldn't conceive of suffering. </p>
<p>Then the Vagabond was pushing his legs open, making room for slick touches, and Trevor's body <em>did</em> respond to that, at least, jolting helplessly against the damp boards. They sky wheeled overhead, seagulls perfectly still like mile markers. There was a ringing in his ears, a sense that alcohol was dulling every sense except the one that mattered most. He whimpered. </p>
<p>Soft hands carded through his hair, gripping his head and turning it. Wheels again, conspicuous and sharply beautiful, focusing him like a camera until she was the center of his vision. </p>
<p>A spike of pain startled him from somewhere off-screen. He winced, and she didn't break eye contact.</p>
<p>"Hurts?" Her tone was <em>almost</em> sympathetic, so close and yet not <em>quite</em> sorry for him. He whined softly, and she leaned in and kissed the sound from his mouth.</p>
<p>"He won't keep you forever, you know." The words were a whisper, her lips brushing over his. They sat at the forefront of his mind, pulling his attention away from the Vagabond, from the sickening thought that he'd found a way to torture Trevor after all. "The rest of us will get a turn eventually."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Additional warnings: implied left-alone-in-bondage, creepy massage, massage done incorrectly, nonconsensual blowjobs, nonconsensual otc medication/drugging, gaslighting vibes, description of imagined torture, also some real torture.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pain.</p>
<p>The sound of a slamming door went off like a gunshot inside Trevor's head, shattering his dreams into slivers of glass. He groaned, hands flying up automatically to shield his eyes from the blinding light that was falling across his face. Heavy iron chains slapped against his chest with the motion, trailing from the manacles that were clamped around each wrist. </p>
<p>Oh. Right. That was a thing.</p>
<p>Every inch of Trevor's body seemed to ache, the pain in his head and in...other places...blending together and spreading like ink stains until he couldn't identify a part of himself that wasn't screaming for relief.</p>
<p>"Good morning!" Words buried themselves like toothpicks in his cerebellum. "You look like <em>shit</em>!"</p>
<p>Trevor peeled his tenderized eyelids open. The dark shape looming over him resolved itself slowly into the Kingpin, back lit by an open window and resembling a bearded virgin Mary. Trevor blinked, and the Kingpin apparition smiled. </p>
<p>"I'd offer to shoot you, but." The Kingpin laughed, a sound Trevor's body was starting to recognize as <em>danger</em>. "I don't think you'd appreciate it."</p>
<p>"Nnnh-" Trevor took a moment to un-stick his tongue from the roof of his mouth, his desire to go on living only <em>just</em> outweighing the magnitude of his hangover. "N-no, sir."</p>
<p>"I like how polite you are, cop." The Kingpin moved away, blasting Trevor in the face once more with the full force of the sunlight. "Makes me wanna help you."</p>
<p>A soft metallic <em>swish</em> whispered from off to Trevor's right, and with it the cool relief of darkness. A curtain being closed. </p>
<p>Trevor moaned in relief, beginning to push himself into a seated position on what he could now see was a crisp, plush bed, the perfect white sheets somewhat marred where a drunk kidnapping victim had slept fitfully between them. He froze when the Kingpin suddenly dropped onto the bed next to him, leaning in <em>much</em> too close.</p>
<p> "Here." The Kingpin seized his wrist, sprinkled little white tablets into his palm. "Take these." A chilly water bottle was pressed into his other hand, single-use plastic yielding easily beneath his grip. </p>
<p>Trevor looked down at his hand, his blurred vision unable to confirm the picture his mind was optimistically supplying; that the tablets in his palm would have "ASPIRIN" stamped on them, that the Kingpin wasn't asking Trevor to drug himself in front of him. </p>
<p>The intent way he was watching as Trevor considered the pills made that an uncomfortably real possibility.</p>
<p>The moment of hesitation stretched too long, Trevor's acute awareness of being observed sharpening faster than his vision. He brought his hand to his mouth, dropped the tablets onto his tongue, fumbled to open the water bottle.</p>
<p>He told himself he recognized the bitter taste, the result of his delay in gulping water. He told himself he remembered what Aspirin tasted like.</p>
<p>He wasn't sure. But he hoped. </p>
<p>"Drink your water, too." Trevor, caught in the process of lowering the bottle, choked and quickly lifted it again. Hazy memories of how the Fakes encouraged a person to drink had him gulping the water almost faster than he could breathe. </p>
<p>The Kingpin was still watching him when he lowered the empty bottle. His expression didn't shift as Trevor hesitantly made eye contact, continuing to size him up in a way that made Trevor's heart race. </p>
<p>"How's your headache."</p>
<p>Somehow, it wasn't a question. Trevor looked away again, intently studying the glowing white sheets. "Uh, it's b-better. Sir."</p>
<p>"Is it now." The Kingpin reached out, tattooed hands framing each side of Trevor's face. Little sparks of discomfort radiated out from the points of contact, a physical reaction to the unwanted touch. The hands shifted, sliding back until they were resting on the back of his skull. Probing fingers assessed the juncture where head met neck. Trevor whimpered involuntarily.</p>
<p>The Kingpin's smile was triumphant. "Scoot forward." </p>
<p>He wedged his body between Trevor's back and the headboard, levering himself into place without waiting for Trevor to make room. The hands settled on his neck, biting like horseflies. Trevor tried to stay silent, then didn't, hoping it might convince the Kingpin to be gentle with him. There was no discernible change in the agony. </p>
<p>Reasonably, Trevor knew the pressure that had now moved down to his upper shoulders was only from the Kingpin's fingertips. Non-reasonably, his mind was conjuring images of acupuncture performed with rusty nails. </p>
<p>"Need to make sure you're in tip-top shape!" The Kingpin informed him brightly, ignoring the suffering he was currently inflicting. Then, like someone sharing a much-anticipated secret, "Rimmy Tim's <em>very</em> excited to meet you." </p>
<p>The fear that shot through Trevor was new, a response to a fresh, as-of-yet un-encountered threat. It swept over the old fear in a torrent, carrying it away until the Kingpin was something like <em>safety</em>, a comforting known that Trevor wanted to lean into, to push back against even as the contact became unbearable. </p>
<p>"Rimmy's a lot, as I'm sure you're aware." The Kingpin settled into comfortable narration, Trevor clinging desperately to his every word as an escape from the pain in his shoulders. "He's a Fake through and through, that boy, but somehow it goes <em>further</em>. A class all his own, really. Now, me, I love the man. Love what he does to me. But, when what he's done becomes too much..." The hands settled, smoothing over skin as though adjusting it, coming to rest on either side of Trevor's neck. Heavy. Present. Anchoring. "When I can't take anymore, I reach for my pistol."</p>
<p>Trevor shivered, the motion undisguisable through this much shared contact. The Kingpin laughed, just once.</p>
<p>"Exactly. So we need to make sure you're in the best condition possible." The hands moved again, sliding down his back. Around his sides. Lower, until Trevor's breath hitched in a sudden panic he couldn't do anything to rectify. "Need to use <em>every</em> resource at our disposal." </p>
<p>One tattooed hand dipped below the sheets, wrapping around Trevor's soft dick with confident ownership.</p>
<p>"I-" Trevor swallowed, the dryness in his mouth suddenly much more pronounced. "T-that's-" </p>
<p>He couldn't imagine the words that would make this stop. Couldn't picture what order to put them in. </p>
<p>The Kingpin nuzzled against his neck, horrible closeness that pulled fresh noises from his throat. Then he shifted, sliding out from behind Trevor, ceding the space with such suddenness that Trevor fell backwards, catching himself on his elbows. The Kingpin knelt over him, a predator relishing his captured prey. Savoring the moment before teeth and claws marred the scene.</p>
<p>Then he turned his attention lower, and not for the first time, Trevor whimpered.</p>
<p>The Kingpin's mouth felt...nice. Gentle. None of the teeth that Trevor had been initially expecting, his fingers curling into the sheets in anticipation of further pain. A sudden, vivid memory overtook his vision; sweet liquid in a curved glass, something <em>good</em> and <em>pleasant</em> given to him freely. A moment of real pleasure amid the suffering.</p>
<p>Not asked for, though. He hadn't...didn't want...</p>
<p>A hand reached between his legs, demanding in search of its goal. Closing with certainty around his balls. Cupping gently, thumb rubbing soft circles against the sensitive skin. Trevor had the sudden impression that the Kingpin was searching for something. Was rifling through him like a dresser, all his layers on display.</p>
<p>His arms had started shaking. Trevor lay back against the pillows, relief rushing through his neck and shoulders as he did so. Fuck, maybe they <em>did</em> feel better. His headache, too, was no longer extending into other parts of his body, the aura of pain gone from his vision. </p>
<p>There was a purpose to this, though. It was important to remember that. The Kingpin himself had said, anything resembling kindness was merely strategy, preparation for some greater horror, or for...for passing him on to someone else, like a present lovingly wrapped.</p>
<p>Thoughts chased themselves around Trevor's head as the Kingpin blew him, assessments and re-assessments of his captivity, interspersed with police footage of Rimmy Tim, white cowboy hat tipped jauntily as though aware of the camera. Then the Kingpin found what he'd been looking for, and Trevor's mind was wiped clean by a flood of endorphins that left him trembling on the sheets, quite possibly even more helpless than before.</p>
<p>The Kingpin loomed over him. Trevor had the sudden urge to cover his face, to roll onto his side and hide in the covers. He didn't. Couldn't. Was frozen in place by the Kingpin's stare. By his <em>smile</em>.</p>
<p>The Kingpin licked his lips before speaking, mouth still curved in a smile. "How's your headache <em>now</em>?"</p>
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